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Monday, September 7, 2015

Wash Line Monday!

Our Monday
meme shines a light on apparel. From Regency to Steampunk, and
everything in between, we dress our characters to reflect the story we
want to tell.

In comments, and in 300 words or less,
give us a snippet from your novel that describes what your heroes,
heroines, or bit players are wearing. Don't forget your buy link and
website/blog link. Have fun!

12 comments:

Arabella was smirking. There was no other way to describe the arrogance that marred her features. Barbara took in the whole picture, from the carelessly tossed auburn tresses to the strappy nude-colored sandals. The white micro-mini hugged every curve, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. Her only accessories were the diamonds that flashed at her ears and on her finger. The look was a nonchalant one that said I don’t have to try too hard.

The heroine from BAD EX KARMA, after a totally unexpected breakup at her anniversary dinner:

I glanced up and saw my reflection in the bathroom mirror.

Dear God.

Although I’m thirty-something, I generally look younger. Now I looked like I could have given birth to the octogenarian that had just shuffled out.

I’m tall, not exactly willowy, but not a sturdy oak either. I’m more like a medium-sized tree, one that doesn’t work out much, but who always makes that her New Year’s resolution.

My long blonde hair was the only part of me that didn't look ravaged by tonight's tragedy. The red wrap dress used to be a favorite, but now it would always be a visual representation of the moment my heart exploded.

I stood up slowly, exhausted by all of the emotion, and crept toward the mirror. I wiped underneath my eyes with the crumpled tissue, and then dabbed at my reddened nose. After so much crying, my face was now the perfect crimson accessory for my dress.

All I needed to complete the ensemble was Bradley's ripped-off testicles dangling from my earrings.

This is from my British Regency novel, Dangerous Deceit (as Romy Gemmell). Lydia is about to set out on an adventure dressed as a boy.

On her return home, Lydia began to prepare the next essential part of her plan. Excited and full of expectation, she searched out the clothes to wear for her disguise. The breeches and jacket had been slightly big when she used to wear them and now fitted well enough to pass. She would need to bind her chest with some linen to flatten it as much as possible before putting on the white shirt.

When she stood before the mirror in her male clothes, Lydia was surprised to find she cut rather a fine figure. Not quite as tall as many young men perhaps, but she could pass for a youth. She let down her hair and pulled it completely back from her face. She would tie it in a queue and top it with a tricorn. If that looked a little out of fashion, Elizabeth could explain that her ‘cousin’ had been in the country for too long.

Fortunately, she had kept a pair of her brother’s boots from when his feet were smaller and, with a little wedging at the toes, they should do very well. All that remained was to find a necktie and she would be ready. She would pack everything into a large bag separate from her other luggage and exchange one outfit for the other at Elizabeth’s home. There, it was all quite simple, she told her reflection. She was ready for her adventure.

The woman shook her head, the large blue flowers atop her hat bobbing. “You promised me a tour of our house.” Her full lips quirked upward.

He swallowed. This was the woman in the photo, but instead of a black and white tintype, he was gazing at a beautiful, flesh and blood woman. Her reddish-gold hair was piled up under her hat, a few loose tendrils curled past her ears. A high-necked gown draped over her legs, completely covering her toes. Seated in an outdoor gazebo, she watched him intently.

“I’ve been waiting so long to see it finished.” She reached out a gloved hand and motioned for him to sit.

Her eyes so mesmerized him, he brushed against the gazebo pillar, nearly losing his balance. Her bright smile drew a grin from him.

Before he sat, he glanced over his shoulder. This was the house! The one being demolished, but it was new.

“Where am I?” he demanded of the woman. “And who are you?”

“Jack, are you quite all right?” Her smile faded into a frown. “I’m Amanda. I rescued you.”

“Huh?”

A loud buzz pulled him away. He jerked upright.

“What the hell?” He rubbed his face. His subconscious had mixed the photo and the house into a crazy dream.

I have a new release, BURNS TOO DEEP, where clothing seems to play a big part in the plot, and in the lovemaking too. Here, Thomas reacts to his lover's apparel.

~They stood across from each other at his double bed and watched each other undress. By the time Thomas’ shirt was halfway off, his prick was being bludgeoned with hot blood and his fingers were shaking.

His eyes fastened on Thomas, Burns slowly unbuttoned his dress shirt but did not remove it. He loosened his tie, left it draped on his neck. He slowly lowered his trousers, then bent and removed them. When he straightened, he was standing in long tails with his necktie riding each side of his splayed shirt front. His cock reared from the soft linen.

SKATER'S WALTZby Peggy JaegerHis fingers found the toggle on her dress zipper, and in a heartbeat it fell to the floor and puddled at their feet. When his hands dipped low to caress her waist, they stilled. “Tiffany Judith Lennox. What the hell are you wearing?” His face broke into a sinful, wicked grin.Heat flushed up her entire body, and she lowered her eyes. “The designer said I should wear these with the dress. They keep the lines of it sleek and smooth, and they don’t show underneath like pantyhose do.”Cole’s fingers wrapped around the delicate black lace thong and skimmed the garters fastened to the sides of a belt secured around her hips. A black satin strapless bra pushed her small breasts high together, forming a deep cleft.Cole bent down and licked the depression between those breasts, raking his tongue from the notch at her throat down below the center dip in the bra. Tiffany’s knees shook when his hot, slick and expert tongue moved up and down her décolletage.“This is more cleavage than a man can stand,” he told her, chuckling. “What kind of bra can make you look so voluptuous?”Tiffany sighed. “I’m not in the habit of discussing my underwear, Cole.”He swirled his tongue into the depression again and she melted beneath his grip.“So we won’t discuss it.” He unlatched the back of it without any effort at all.Her breasts danced free into his waiting hands and he cupped each. Tenderly, he nipped at one swollen bud then gave the other equal time.“Oh dear God.” Tiffany gasped and fisted his hair in her hands.

This is from my new releaseHer Country Heart- A Sierra Creek Novel. Ever wonder what happened to your high school crush?

It didn’t take long to get to the river. The gently flowing body of water was lower than she remembered but looked just as welcoming as it had when she was a kid.“Most people use the main swimming hole downstream.” Wyatt parked on a pullout next to the river. “But I thought this would be a good quiet place to swim and pan for gold.”“Perfect.” She grabbed the picnic basket walked toward the river.Wyatt carried the towels, a blanket and a cooler. He set out the blanket under an oak tree near a picnic table and a barbeque pit.Amy stood on the edge of the river. She’d taken off her shorts, but still wore her t-shirt. She hesitated. Wyatt’s eyes were scanning her. Unconsciously, she tugged on the back of her suit, all too aware how out of date and out of fashion she appeared. Dressed like a middle age woman, she’d bought the suit when she was pregnant with Bobby. She should have a bikini or at least a two piece. She put a new swim suit on her mental list. But with no funds the list was long and not likely to get shorter.Wyatt tossed his jeans and shirt on his towel.Amazed to see him muscled, tanned and wearing only a dark racing Speedo, her mouth opened, but she didn’t speak.She yanked off her t-shirt and threw it on her towel and dove into the water. The cold river filled her big suit. It was just what she needed to cool her body heated after seeing Wyatt.http://www.amazon.com/dp/B012U5UTGW www.amazon.com/author/reggiallder

Happy Labor Day! This excerpt is from ALWAYS A BRIDESMAID, Book 3 in my Left at the Altar series:

This was it. Definitely. She'd never be a bridesmaid again. She really meant it this time.

Daniella DiPietro pasted a smile on her face as she walked slowly down the aisle to the strains of "Here Comes the Bride." The three inch heels the bride insisted she wear pinched her toes, and the bridesmaid dress, though stylish, was an uncomfortable size too small. When Chantal Campbell's first bridesmaid suddenly backed out and Dani reluctantly accepted the job, she was stuck with the ill-fitting dress, since there was no time to order one that fit properly. A seamstress did her best with alterations, and a sturdy pair of Spanx helped contain her curvy figure within the slim, strapless column of bright pink satin, but the sweetheart neckline exposed much more of her ample cleavage than she felt happy showing. She felt like an exhibitionist, with her breasts practically spilling out of the dress. One false move and she'd flash the congregation.

Dani clamped down on her embarrassment. The things she did in the name of friendship.

From Secrets of the Heart"Kathy Ann saw him press a small button under the counter. Almost immediately, a man walked out from the back of the shop. He was handsome, olive skinned, dark haired with a thin mustache, possibly Arab, but dressed in western clothes, a fine Italian suit and lovely, obviously luxury, possibly handmade shoes. The only marring element on his features was a two inch scar that ran from his left eyebrow down the side of his cheek."http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=secrets+of+the+heart+joan+leotta

Branin bit off a groan. Protocol demanded Anastasia grant whoever asked the right of first dance if so requested. As subtly as he could, he touched the handfast token Anastasia had presented him at their last Year’s End celebration. As protection against unwanted advances, he had hung the symbol of unity outside the stiff collar of his formal tunic. Now he flipped the small wooden plaque onto its blank side to hide the fact that the final evidence of handfasting—the stone Anastasia would attach to the token at the ceremony—was missing. As an added measure, he cast out his senses to Vivel at the other side of the room. <Vivel, they don’t have the first and only rule here, do they?>

<What’s the matter, Branin? Afraid some young boffo will steal Anastasia away?>

The image of a body in the emerald cape of a ceoltier master floating in a river filled Branin’s mind.

<Please, no bath,> the ceoltier broadcast, picturing himself on his knees in the position of a supplicant. <They do practice that right. However, the Ceoltier Guild, with no little amount of persuasion I might add, got the elders to waive the rule for the duration of your visit.>= = = = Available at Amazon. For excerpts, complete distribution list, or a free read of the first chapter visit Hatchlings Curse excerpt page.

Here are the groom and his best man waiting for the bride in A Baron for Becky.

Two hours later, Hugh joined a cleric and a resplendent Aldridge in the Haverford House Chapel. Hugh had chosen formal court dress and had been pleased with his coat of cream silk velvet, grey breeches and a dark blue waistcoat, richly embroidered in powder blue and silver. Until he stood next to Aldridge.

Aldridge had also found time to change into formal attire. His coat and breeches—of a midnight-blue silk velvet, with a deep band of embroidery on each side and on the cuffs—fitted him as if sewn to his broad shoulders and muscular thighs. Snow-white lace foamed at his neck and cuffs, matching his pure white stockings with silver clocking. His waistcoat put Hugh’s in the shade, near-painted in a riotous multi-colour pattern on a salmon pink ground to match the roses in the coat’s embroidery.

Hugh glared at the roses, suspecting that particular sartorial choice was another poke at him. He would ignore it. In a very short time, Becky would be Lady Overton, and within a week, the whole of London would know the Rose of Frampton was dead and gone.

A few minutes of nervous waiting, and the Duchess arrived, hand in hand with Sarah. Sarah’s stately glide showed her consciousness of her cream dress flounced in lace, the sash exactly the shade of her eyes, her dark curls confined by a ribbon the same colour.

“You look beautiful, Sarah,” Hugh told her, and Aldridge crouched down to rub his finger across her nose. “Beautiful,” he agreed. “And so grown up, Princess.”

Sarah beamed, but Hugh barely noticed. Becky was standing at the other end of the short aisle. The Duchess had dressed her in silver lace over a pale peach silk, and she was breath-taking. The dress was full from the high waist, but hugged the lower curves of her breasts. Above, a breath of silk trimmed the bodice in a narrow flounce that continued across both shoulders, a frame for the sweet slope of her creamy chest and throat.